Perfection
by Balance.X
Summary: Summary: The unknown is a thing we all try to avoid. Stick to the usual, the known. But what if you know nothing? What if the second colour that you've ever seen is gold? And what if that golden person if the most unknown thing in the world, but also the thing that might help you heal. Rated M for very dark themes. OOC. Clace, Climon, Malec, Jaia.


**Perfection**

 **Chapter 1  
**  
She looked around the sterile white room, closing her eyes after taking in the very familiar structure of it all once again.

Every time she looked around the room—the only room she had every known—she saw it from a different perspective, never seeing it the same.

The reason for that was because she was never in the same spot when she looked around, of course. But it was also because it was always different in her mind.

Sometimes she absolutely hated it and sometimes this room was the thing she cherished most.

This time, when she looked at it, she saw everything while lying on the ground, completely still as to not cause more pain to her wounds.

It wasn't a basement—at least, she _thought_ it wasn't—and it wasn't this concrete torture room, either.

It was just plain white, with a neatly made bed which was _very_ comfortable, with a desk and another door leading to a sterile white bathroom and _another_ door that led to the unknown.

There was a nightstand, white, there was a lamp, which was completely white _and_ —of course—gave only white light.

The only thing that gave colour to the room was she herself.

And it weren't her clothes, which were white, it was just typically her.

She radiated light, her hair like a fiery beacon and her eyes, two apple green orbs which shone with enough light to illuminate an entire city.

Very carefully, the girl stood up, hyper-aware of every little sound.

If she hadn't been, _he_ might just come back through that one door and beat her senseless once again.

She herself didn't even know who _he_ was.

He might as well be a different person each time he came through that door.

She wouldn't notice with the way his face and body were always covered with a white shirt, white gloves, white trousers, white shoes and a white mask and a white beanie.

Anyone that came in was always entirely covered, so she wouldn't be able to name the person or see if it was the same one over and over again.

It was a very careful system, very thought through, not a single gap in their waterproof plan.

Again, she didn't even know who _they_ were.

All she ever heard of _them_ was the voice that blasted throughout the room even when there was no evidence of a speaker anywhere.

The voice always told her what to do, how to do it, how to _not_ do it and exactly _where_ to do it.

For as long as she could remember she had lived in this room, alone, never any human contact.

She would only speak when she was asked something, only do something when she must.

She stood there, motionless as the room spun around her and her brain got used to standing up again.

The sudden motion had caused everything to go white while spinning, had caused her body to feel like it had been flung forward and back again.

She stood there, blinking away the blinding light that her own brain projected across her field of sight.

Very slowly, she began to walk towards the sterile white bathroom, which was also very familiar.

But now it seemed foreign to her.

Because she was back to that mood where she hated everything and hated that she hated everything.

Confusing, really.

She walked through the open doorway and looked around.

She located her all-white toothbrush and the white tube of white toothpaste.

She located the white sink and the white cup that stood on top of it.

She located the white tap with the crystal clear water filling it.

She located the white toilet bowl and the white toilet paper.

And not to forget the white shower curtain, hiding the white showerhead and the white bottle of white shampoo and, of course, the white bottle containing white conditioner, same goes for the body wash and body lotion.

Then there was the white loofah and the white razor with white blades.

It was pretty plain, I guess you could say.

She went to stand in front of the sink, looking down at her hands, which were pale from where she was holding the edge of the stone sink so tightly.

There was no mirror, so she would just have to guess how bad she looked.

She turned the tab on, watching the water pour down the drain for a while before shooting into action, cupping both her hands under the water before throwing the contents of it in her face.

The refreshing effect immediately shot through her body as she felt the cold water hit her injured skin, sighing in relief.

Deciding that she wanted more of that feeling, she quickly tore the shower curtain aside, ridding herself of her clothes—a white tanktop with white sports shorts and her white bra and plain white panties—and quickly stepping underneath the ice cold water.

She didn't touch any of the shower products that stood on the shower floor, but instead let the water cool her wounds and burn them at the same time.

It stung horribly, yet it felt wonderful nonetheless.

Apparently she had stood under the shower longer than _they_ would have liked, because the lights flashed off and on again twice.

Her head snapped up and she quickly cut off the water supply, shooting out of the shower, drying herself with the plain white towels as fast as she could, dressing herself in her normal attire and running to her bed, crawling under the blankets and praying that she wouldn't receive punishment for this.

It was a miracle that her prayers were listened to and she managed to fall into a sleep that she hoped she would never wake up from.

But once again, she was awoken by the annoying beep which was followed by the harsh voice that she heard every morning.

''Hello there, Clarissa.''

 _Four years later_

He watched as the black casket was slowly lowered into the ground, he himself unmoving.

He heard sniffles and sobs as he watched how the white roses that rested on top of it slowly became darker with the lack of light it received.

He watched how tiny crumbs of dark earth fell down, probably hitting the casket and bursting apart, causing the organized roses to become slightly unorganized.

His eyes remained dry as well as his cheeks, while others' were soaked, tears still pouring down in a steady stream.

Everyone cried more than he did, everyone grieved more than he did while he was the one that had the most right to do so as his father was lowered into the ground.

His father, Stephen Herondale, was buried right next to where his mother had been buried eleven years already.

Stephen had died at the reasonably young age of 44, where his mother, Celine, had died at 33 when he himself was only 9 years of age.

Stephen had died because of a heart attack, which came very unexpected; he had never had heart problems before.

Celine had died because of cancer—leukemia—at what he thought was a very young age.

Even though he should be crying when his last parent and last relative was being lowered into the ground to be buried forever, he wasn't doing so; simply because he didn't really care.

He had always hated his father, because his father always had this image of the 'perfect' son.

Stephen trained him to be the best fighter, taught him math, science, biology, literature, made sure his son was one of the best young piano players, made sure he was just absolutely _perfect_.

Stephen was harsh and cold, never kind and gentle like Celine was.

But those two different ways of upbringing—strict and harsh and gentle and kind—had made him the person who he was today.

Jace Herondale, the name he carried proudly everywhere he went, the man with witty and sharp comments, his words dipped in sarcasm, his posture proud with cocky and arrogant sides to it.

He managed to seduce many girls with this behaviour, managing to be the topic of every conversation even though he barely came further than the wooden door of his large house.

When he was allowed to go out, though, he made sure that everyone knew who he was and what his place was, which was at the top.

But there was still a side to him that no one could change, the side that Celine had given him and the side he was so proud of.

It as the side that was gentle and loving, just like his mother was.

He hadn't shown that side to anybody, afraid—even though he wouldn't admit it out loud—of getting hurt.

Jace suddenly noticed that the sniffling had faded and he turned around to see how close friends of the family were wandering back to the exit.

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder, a familiar voice speaking up, breaking himself out of his train of thoughts.

''Hey, man, let's go get something to eat.'' Jordan said and Jace caught him glancing at the girl that Jordan had been ogling for the whole hour that they had been here.

Jace knew the girl, for he had been the one to introduce her to Jordan.

The girl's name was Maia and Jace had to admit that she was very pretty, though he wouldn't go for her himself.

She had dark brown hair with a brown skin, the colour of caramel.

Her eyes were brown and mysterious, hiding many secrets.

Her eyes had been following Jordan all day and Jordan's had been following her, unbelievably their eyes had never met throughout the day.

Jace and Jordan walked through the freshly mowed grass, the dampness of it wetting their shoes and annoying them with the frequent squeak their shoes made when they slid over the grass.

The weather was perfect for the events of the day, a funeral with damp, grim weather.

Perfect.

The two friends slid graciously through the gates, letting their fancy shoes hit the concrete pavement as they walked the all too familiar way to their favourite restaurant.

Taki's wasn't crowded, maybe three or four booths taken.

It was as usual, only when Jace entered the place this time, he was terribly overdressed in his black tuxedo and black tie and sleek shoes.

He shrugged it off, though, walking over to his usual booth, seeing Kaelie—the waitress—immediately walk over to them.

Both overdressed gentlemen sat down gracefully, taking in Kaelie's barely there outfit.

Kaelie was, rudely worded, a real slut.

She was always trying to seduce Jace, when he had made it clear that that one hook-up was merely a one night stand and he _really_ didn't want anything else to do with her.

Kaelie had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes and a lovely shape, but Jace really didn't care anymore.

Her skin was like porcelain, or so it seemed, anyway.

She casually tugged her hair behind her ear, biting her lip.

Jace couldn't help but notice the difference between the skin of her face and the pale skin of her ear.

You saw an obvious smear of where the foundation stopped, which was just before her ear, where her skin was 15 shades paler.

Her eyes and lips were caked in makeup, it seemed like she could barely hold her eyes up with the amount of makeup piled on both of them.

There weren't really uniforms for the employees, only red aprons and a name tag.

Underneath the apron she was most obviously wearing a _very_ short skirt which barely covered her behind and a crop top with a very deep V-cut.

''What would you like today, Jacey? The usual?'' She asked seductively, ignoring Jordan almost completely.

''I'd like some coconut pancakes and coffee. Black.'' Jace responded, not even looking up at her and not even having opened the menu.

He basically knew the menu from back to front.

''And you, Jordan?'' Asked Jace, causing Kaelie to realize that there was, in fact, another live person sitting at the booth.

Jordan glared at Kaelie a very evil glance, naming his order without hesitating.

''I would like some blueberry waffles, please. And a strawberry milkshake.''

Kaelie scribbled it down carelessly, before looking back at Jace, fluttering her eyeslashes before sashaying away.

Jace rolled his eyes as soon as she turned her back to the two men, scoffing.

''She almost makes me hate this place. Almost.'' Jordan said lowly, in case she could still hear.

Jace glanced towards the counter, seeing Kaelie nowhere.

''Yup.'' He said, not caring about whatever volume he was speaking with.

He felt a breeze against his neck as the bell rang, meaning another customer entered.

He heard high heels clicking and almost immediately knew who it was.

''Isabelle.'' Both Jordan and Jace said at the same time as the heels clicked closer to their booth.

Jace slid further into the booth as he felt another person immediately plop down next to him.

''Hey. How you guys doin'?'' She asked casually, as if she had not just attended a very sad and very grim funeral.

''Iz, my dad just died. How the Hell do you think I'm feeling?'' Jace asked, annoyed.

''I dunno, you pretty much hated him, so…'' Isabelle said casually.

Jace saw Jordan roll his eyes out of the corner of his view.

''Hey Iz, have you talked to Maia recently?'' Jordan asked, changing the subject swiftly.

Iz chuckled, shaking her silently. ''Jordan, just go _talk_ to her. I can't do it for you.''

''You can, actually. But that would be the weirdest conversation ever.'' Jace interrupted with a grin.

Both Isabelle and Jordan ignored his sarcastic comment as they usually did.

''I know, but has she said anything about me? Something mean? Or… I don't know, something good?'' Jordan continued.

Isabelle scoffed. ''You ask her.'' Isabelle said, sticking her thumb out over her shoulder just as the bell rang again.

Soon enough, another person plopped down, this time opposite of Izzy.

''Hey guys.'' Maia said, her hair slightly puffed up from the damp weather.

The brown haired girl shrugged off her coat, laying it casually in her lap.

Jace glanced suspiciously at Izzy, whom was typing away on her cell phone.

Isabelle was a very beautiful girl, Jace had to admit, but Jace would _never_ go for her.

She was like a little sister to him.

Isabelle was 19 years of age—one year younger than Jace—and was already pretty independent.

Isabelle was beautiful with her sleek black hair which fell to just underneath her chest, brown eyes that were dark enough to make them seem black and a very nice, tall figure.

Meanwhile, Jordan was once again sneaking glances at Maia while Maia chatted away with Izzy, whom was typing on her screen while openly having a conversation with Maia.

 _Women_ , Jace thought dramatically.

Jordan had always been a very good friend of Jace, ever since he had been allowed to go out the house at the young age of 14.

Jordan was a tall, brown skinned man with dark hair that tumbled over his forehead and down his neck in curls and had long, thick eyelashes.

He was broad shouldered and slim, but muscular, with high cheekbones and startling  
hazel-green eyes.

On both arms, he had tattoos that looked like scrolling script winding around his skin.

Jace himself was rather handsome as well.

Oh, who was he kidding.

Jace was a god-like man.

He had fine, curly golden-blond hair, long eyelashes that framed his golden eyes, a slim but muscular build with a tall posture reaching 5'11.

His face was angular, with sharp cheekbones that could cut through a salami and a narrow mouth.

The only real flaw, which Jace didn't see as a flaw at all, was the slight chip in his left incisor.

Strangely, Jace was left-handed, which neither his mother nor his father were.

He knew that the group of six girl in the front corner booth were ogling at him.

Which girl didn't?

Jace casually threw his arm over the length of the booth, flicking his hair and making eye contact with one of the girl, winking purposefully at her, which caused the girl to giggle and twirl her hair around one of her brown locks.

Jace looked back at his friends, his eyes seeing them all staring at him, annoyed.

''Jace, would you stop hitting on someone for just a second?'' Isabelle hissed, annoyed.

Both Jordan and Maia nodded in agreement.

Jace huffed. ''Fine, but just this once.''

He slammed the mahogany door shut behind him, staring directly into the dark room, only the light of the moon peaking through the windows.

His house was quite modern, he had to admit, he was quite glad that his parents left him the entire house.

Jace flicked a switch and the lights sprang on in the living room, blinding Jace for a second before his eyes got used to it.

Jordan, Maia, Isabelle and Jace had gone from Taki's straight to the movie theatre, hoping to catch a good movie, which they did.

The movie took pretty long, which was why it was now…

Jace slipped his phone from his pocket, clicking the home button so the screen lit up, flashing the time; 09:37 PM.

Jace silently kicked off his expensive shoes and shrugged off his designer jacket.

He walked across the creatively decorated living room until he stood in front of the staircase.

He flicked a switch at the bottom of the stairs, seeing the upstairs hallway light up with yellow-ish light.

Jace walked upstairs, now barefoot, nearly slipping twice.

He had to admit, in the evening when no one was around, he could be quite ungraceful and rude, evident to the loud burp that erupted from his mouth.

Once he finally reached the top of the stairs he began whistling a very random tune and even though it _was_ random, it was still perfectly on key.

Jace immediately entered the first door on his right and greeted the familiar sight of his room, with his king-size bed and large closet and ensuite.

He walked over to his large closet and threw the doors open with the flick of his hand which was grasping to handle.

He glanced at his many expensive clothes deciding on simple black track pants and a blue T-shirt, both smelling like they came fresh out of the laundry.

The Herondales had many staff members to help them with simply everything.

But, today, due to the circumstances with Stephen and all, they had been given two weeks off.

Jace hadn't been in this house for quite a while, living snugly in his own apartment, but still his closet was filled with clothes, the fridge was apparently almost exploding, and everything was fresh out of the laundry.

Jace quickly threw his previous clothes in the hamper which stood snugly in the corner of his bathroom, walking out of the room, still whistling happily.

Jace threw the door to his bedroom shut after having switched the lights off and he came to a sudden stop right in front of his parents' room.

The room where _both_ his parents had died.

The door threatened him, screaming at him to open it.

But he didn't, he simply couldn't.

For all his life he had been forbidden to open the door and still he was afraid that his father would come running and beat him to death if he opened it.

Stephen had tried to make his son fearless, but instead made him so afraid of his own father that he ceased to believe that Stephen was actually _dead._

He felt a shiver run all to way through his bones, ending at his spine.

Jace couldn't get out of there soon enough.

His whistling had—obviously—stopped and his good mood had disappeared almost completely, but it soon returned.

Once Jace had managed to convince himself to forget the branches of memories that had crept back into his mind, he had calmed down again, going back to his happy tune whistling as he slowly walked down the stairs, nearing the last step.

He jumped onto the floor and walked over to the comfortable couch, which was positioned purposefully in front of the large flat screen TV that hung snugly above a large fireplace.

He plopped down right in the middle, letting the couch embrace him, let it almost swallow him hole.

He reached out for the black remote that lay on the glass coffee table, his thumb reaching out for the red On/Off button, but he froze in place.

Another shiver ran through his bones and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose as he stopped mid-whistle.

A thump audibly sounded through the entire house.

Jace flashed up from where he had previously been sitting snugly, scanning the entire room but coming up with nothing odd.

Another thump, followed by a horrifying scream.

It was a female scream and Jace didn't recognize it at all.

Jace froze once again, thinking; _Is this place haunted?_

He wasn't really scared, just slightly enraged that all these events had to ruin his evening.

He _should_ be scared, but he just _wasn't._

He really didn't care if it was a terrible monster/demon sitting in the darkness of the basement, waiting to kill him.

He just wanted to get this over with.

His life wasn't perfect, far from, actually.

 _He_ was created to be perfect, and he was in everyone's eyes, except those of his own.

He somehow knew the thumps were coming from his basement, another place that he was forbidden to enter.

His father was _very_ strict about going into the basement.

 _Six-year-old Jace sat on the floor behind the couch, playing with his foam sword._

 _He slashed it back and forth, pretending to be slaying one of his greatest enemies in the cute toddler way._

 _He victoriously yelled when his imaginary opponent fell to his knees and onto the ground, giving a tired moan._

 _Jace bowed, waving to the 'crowd'—which was an empty room_ — _and winking at the 'ladies', whom all fainted._

 _He had quite the fantasy._

 _Eventually bored by the bowing and cheering, Jace dropped his toy sword and plopped down on his butt, laying down on his back in star shape, stretched out._

 _''Ugh.'' He groaned._

 _He began rolling around moaning tiredly._

 _''Uuuuugh.''_

 _Eventually bored of moping around like that, too, Jace decided to explore the already known house._

 _So he jumped up, turning around to face the stairway upstairs, but instead accidently turned a bit further, until he faced the stairway that led downstairs._

 _He could only see the first three steps, after that it was complete darkness._

 _Jace, being his scared six-year-old self, picked up his foam sword and stuck out his chest, trying to make himself look more muscular and brave._

 _He slowly walked forward, his bare feet making small and soft thumps._

 _He slowly neared the top of the staircase, quickly taking a step back upon seeing only darkness when he looked down._

 _Then, 14 years ago, he was scared to go down there._

 _But still he did so, foam sword in hand._

 _He stood atop the first step, and very carefully lowered his right foot down on the second step, ignoring his father's voice chanting over and over in his head._

 _''Don't_ ever _go down into the basement, or I will make sure you won't even dare to look at it anymore.''_

 _Jace shivered, but ignored his father's warning words._

 _He lowered his right foot onto the second step, letting the other follow quickly._

 _As soon as he had both feet steadily on the second step, the stair gave a terrible squeak._

 _''Jace?!'' Immediately his father's voice boomed through the house, making Jace freeze where he stood._

 _His father soon entered the living room, seeing his son stand on the stairway to the basement which was strictly forbidden._

 _Rage burned in his eyes the next two hours as he made sure his son would never dare to go down there again._

 _And he wouldn't._

Until now.

Jace stood atop the staircase—this time without a foam sword—and peered down into the darkness.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, just as another terrible scream ran through the house.

He nearly dropped his phone, but managed somehow to hold fast and turn on his flashlight.

The rest of the staircase became visible and Jace located a light switch half-way down the stairs.

He placed his right foot down onto the second step, only half his weight equalling the weight he had when he was six, making the stairs squeak loudly.

He carefully, but surely, placed his right foot down, making it squeak again.

In the back of his mind, his father's voice boomed throughout the building, but in reality there was only the slight squeaking of the stairs.

Swiftly Jace made his way down to the third step, then the fourth, which he saw for the first time in his life.

Soon enough he neared the light switch and flicked it up.

He turned his flashlight off, because now the staircase was bathed in yellow-ish light, as well as the short hallway that followed.

Jace walked down the other half of the stairs, coming to a stop at the end of it.

The short hallway possessed three doors, one on the left, one straight ahead, and one on the right.

Firstly, he decided to enter the one on his left.

He placed his hand on the white doorknob of the white door and glanced around, noticing _everything_ was white.

The floor, the walls, the ceiling, the doors and different from the lamp that bathed the stairs in yellow-ish light, the hallway was bathed in a bright white light.

Jace certainly thought that this was odd.

He almost felt like he was a the dentist's office.

He slowly turned the knob, hearing it click, and he slowly pushed the door open.

He just stood there, holding the door open, not going further than the doorway.

The things he saw…

They shocked him greatly.

He knew that his father was a horrible man, but what the heck was _this all_ for?

What Jace saw should only belong in one's nightmares.

While Jace scanned the walls which held all kinds of things, the screams went on and on and Jace decided that the thing—the _person_ down here wasn't a monster at all.

Hung up on the walls were torture devices.

Knifes of all sizes, whips, handcuffs, ropes, there even was a tiny basket of _lighters_ and underneath it was a fire poker.

There were guns and tasers, even.

Jace stumbled back, letting the door fall shut and crashed into another door.

This door, though, he decided not to open.

He was too afraid of what it was going to contain.

Instead, he moved the door which was straight ahead of him, at the end of the hallway.

The door where the screams came from.

It kept going on and on, thumps sounded against the door—Jace suddenly realized that someone was banging their fists against the door.

Jace slowly walked up to the door, and held his own fist up.

He closed his eyes, and slowly brought it forward, until it steadily knocked on the door _once_.

The thumping and screaming immediately stopped, and Jace heard someone's breath hitch.

''H-hello?'' Jace asked, hesitantly.

 **A/N:**

 **Hi :D**

 **Okay, so this is a new story.**

 **My followers or the people who have read my other fanfic, Move, might know that I am not that good in updating frequently…**

 **But I'm definitely going to try on this one.**

 **This is a fanfic that I've been willing to type out for a while now…**

 **And…**

 **Well..**

 **It's _very_ different from what I usually write, and the style is different, too.**

 **But I enjoyed writing it A LOT.**

 **I hope you guys enjoy it, too :D**


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